


double stuffed oreo

by Nanimok



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Connor, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is In Denial About Deviancy, Crack Treated Seriously, Creampie, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Posessive Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Possessive Markus, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Power Dynamics, Revolutionary Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Rimming, Ruthless Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Sexual Content, Soft Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Virgin Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Virgin Markus (Detroit: Become Human), i just realised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Sometimes, the only person you can count on is yourself. Markus knows this well.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 271





	double stuffed oreo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimoru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimoru/gifts).



> Heed the **Crack Treated Seriously** tag!!! Because this is very cracky!!! taken!!! seriously!!!
> 
> My love and soul to [ feriswheel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feriswheel/pseuds/feriswheel) who beta-ed and clinched this fic until it was tighter than connor's asshole. Sobs. She's amazing. Thank you to [magickitt](https://magickitt.tumblr.com) and my buns!!! For all the love and support! This fic would not exist without you! 
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIMO!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS DOUBLE STUFFED OREO PIE!!

Markus drapes himself over the chair beside the bed where his doppelganger-slash-double rests in low-battery mode.

Double? Alternate self, Markus supposes. His alternate self is lying on his back, bouncing a rubber ball against the grey walls of what is effectively his holding cell. Looking a little too carefree for someone who's ended up in an alternate dimension.

Dragging a hand over his face feels like a very human thing to do, but that's what they've been fighting for, wasn't it? To be recognised as a being, like humans are. It's also a minor act, but it's an easy and satisfying way of expressing frustration, even though the subject causing said frustration is neither a minor problem nor easy to deal with.

"How did you deal with the Deviant Hunter in your universe?" Markus asks.

The bouncing stops. His alternate-self clutches the ball in his hand and peeks at him curiously. "You're not on good terms with each other here, then," he finally says. "What's that about?"

"You tell me," Markus says. "He's adamant on recalling us all to Cyberlife."

Other-Markus frowns. "That's not right."

"So yours doesn't?" Markus asks.

"No," Other-Markus says. "Not at all."

That seems to be all he's willing to reveal; probably waiting to see more of the discrepancies between their universes before he makes his mind up. It's what Markus himself would do, and despite the different paths they chose for their revolution, they are technically the same person. It's a smart move.

"He insists that he's not Deviant, even though I have people saying otherwise," Markus says. "Yet, it seems that sparing them has only made him become more determined on proving that he's a machine."

"So he didn't shoot the Blue and Tracey in this universe?" Other-Markus says. "Some things never do change."

Markus blinks. His other self almost sound… fond.

"He brought the FBI down on Jericho."

Other-Markus grimaces. “Yeah. He did.”

“And you’re okay with that?” 

“He was following his programming,” Other-Markus says. “He more than made up for it when he saved thousands of our people from Cyberlife tower.”

Surprise jolts through him. “He did that?”

Other-Markus seems just as surprised as him. “He didn’t do that here?” 

Markus doesn’t even offer him an answer. Curiosity zings through his wires. He only offers his hand and peels his skin back in offer. Other-Markus is on the back feet and he knows it. He’s in another dimension. He has no authority here. His only ally is Josh, who’s more loyal to Markus than his ideology. 

Other-Markus takes his hand. Markus is immediately pulled into a barrage of information. 

He’s given free reign, with a slight warning (“ _I know every trick you might pull so behave.”),_ and he sifts through Other-Markus’s choice to kneel at the stead of humans in the revolution. 

_Pacifism is a choice as well,_ Other-Markus says, a little too tightly. 

_Oh dear,_ Markus sends back. _Did I hit a nerve?_

_North must completely adore you in this universe._

_She’s full of good ideas._

_Never said her ideas weren’t good. It just had too much fire._

It’s interesting seeing what the world is like, had his revolution taken another direction. While Markus regrets the loss of life, he doesn’t regret uplifting his people and letting them fight to be recognised.

_Have you ever considered that you’re paving a worse path for the future? A war is the last thing we need._

_Revolution is already a war, and I’m not planning on lying down and letting our people die to appease the humans._

_You’re so self-righteous; I want to smack myself._

Markus almost rolls his eyes. _Enough of that. Where is the information on the Deviant Hunter?_

Other-Markus pauses, and a path unfolds in front of him. Markus is surprised to find the information huddled in a private corner. Not like the one with steel-safe walls and a ten layers of protection, but similar to the cherished folder Markus likes to pull out when he’s feeling nostalgic. Where he tucks his most precious memories for safekeeping—like the better moments of being in Carl’s care.

 _Are you…?_ Markus asks. _You and the Deviant Hunter…?_

Other-Markus sighs. _It’s easier if I just show you. Open the folder, Markus._

It’s weird hearing his name echoed out in his own voice, but open the folder he does. 

He sees the Deviant Hunter hold him at gunpoint. He sees the Deviant Hunter churn himself inside out—guarded yet open—flipping everything he knew on its feet as he breaks his programming. The sight is too intimate, and Markus can feel electricity zap down his throat. There’s the Deviant Hunter marching thousands of people from Cyberlife Tower towards Markus, shifting the war to their tide. There’s the Deviant Hunter standing beside him on stage as he addresses his people. 

Then Other-Markus’s memories takes a warmer tone, sharper in its quality. The Deviant Hunter becomes _Connor_ and Connor becomes… _everywhere._

There’s Connor directing Jericho’s Security Team. Connor, North, Josh and Simon sitting around a table. Connor and a human escorting him on a trip to meet with Detroit’s representatives. Connor, cold and efficient as he stares down unwanted FBI agents at Jericho. 

Connor and him walking hand in hand through the park, basking in the moment and watching people go by. Connor going into stasis on Markus’s couch with a big hound of a dog on his lap.

There’s Connor sitting in a suit beside himself in some kind of charity gala. Similar to the ones that he and Carl used to go to. His posture is rigid and straight, attentive, but one brush of their hands, he’s sending a wave of affection, touched with a hint of boredom and impatience at getting home and cuddling on their bed. 

There’s Connor in his mind and Connor in his arms. Connor running his fingers through Markus’s beard as he confesses to Markus his deepest fears. Connor spread on the bed, pulling Markus down on top. Connor in his mouth with his lips swollen and warm. Connor flushed as he’s riding Markus’s cock. Connor hiding his face into Markus’s neck as he invites Markus to ride out their completion together. Connor collapsing onto his chest in all his fucked out glory—pliant, limber, and lazy—

_Connor. Connor. Connor._

Markus is swept away by their connection. It churns his thirium pump into overdrive. It swells until it’s unstoppable, roaring like a tsunami. It’s second-hand emotion, but when has that ever stopped Markus from feeling so deeply?

Their interface threads them so closely; Markus feels like they’re flying through the cosmos. He tries to remember the last time the connection had felt this intense—and he finds nothing. Nothing could compare. Nothing is as vivid or as lively—as searing but well-rested—as the feelings Other-Markus is hoarding in his chest.

Even from the way Connor looks at him—subtle and open, warmer than a bright Detroit summer. Markus can see it all—the trust and affection in the tilt of his head, even when they're in an argument, and _Markus_ —

Markus wants.

Oh, does Markus _want._

Markus is ripped away from Other-Markus's memory bank without warning. If he still had his LED, it would have flared red from the whiplash.

 _Watch yourself,_ Other-Markus warns.

Markus nods at him. “Apologies. I overstayed my welcome.”

He doesn't regret it though.

“He insists on staying as a machine,” Markus continues. “But with the exception of the revolution, this Connor has spared almost every deviant he came into contact with. Like yours.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Other-Markus says. “Connor has always suspected that seeds of his deviancy had developed months before he was reactivated by Cyberlife.”

“He is as deviant as the rest of us,” Markus says, his voice ringing with vindication.

“He’s even endeared himself to the Lieutenant.”

“Hank?” Other-Markus asks, surprised.

“Yes, Lieutenant Anderson,” Markus says, scrunching his nose. “He questioned us about Connor’s disappearance.”

“Did you at least tell him that Connor’s okay?” Other-Markus asks. He sounds exasperated.

Markus raises his eyebrows. “Why would I?”

“Hank’s an ally.”

“He’s _your_ ally.”

“He _could_ be yours if you let him,” Other-Markus says. “He’s resourceful, trustworthy, and he cares for Connor. You can use someone like him on your team.”

“You’re condoning me using Connor as leverage with the Lieutenant?”

“He was a big part of why Connor deviated, as well. If you want Connor on your side…”

This grabs Markus’s attention. He tilts his head in question.

“If you want Connor to deviate,” Other-Markus gives him a knowing look, “then you’ll need Hank there with you.”

“I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath,” Markus says. “Leaving anything in a human’s hand gives a bad taste in my mouth.”

Other-Markus raises one eyebrow. “I can wait. We don’t breathe anyway.”

“We do when we’re overheating,” Markus says, and he’s struck with a memory from Other-Markus’s memory bank. Connor, with his plump lips panting above him, obviously breathing and keening as Markus digs in fingers into Connor’s hips and _grinds—_

“Will you help me deviate him, then?” Markus blurts out.

Other-Markus hesitates. “Depends on what you’re planning to do.”

“Get him to admit that he feels like the rest of us do.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Other-Markus says. “I will, though. Help you, that is.”

“Good. I have a few ideas.”

Then, he starts planning.

* * *

An android’s understanding of computer systems, technology, and software architecture is naturally more advanced and inherent than an average human’s, simply because of the visceral way which androids interact with technology. Josh, specifically, was a professor in Computer Science before his deviation. He developed the suppression collar around Connor’s neck, stifling the control over his speed, strength, and dexterity. The collar caps it off at a certain threshold—a threshold much, much lower than an average Android is used to. It was originally designed to stop Androids infected with a particular self-destructive virus from hurting themselves. It didn’t take long for Jericho to weaponise it when neutralising non-deviated Androids.

As a security precaution, Josh and Simon are the only ones who can unlock the collars. North and Markus have, unfortunately, been the target of one too many political attacks. They’ve decided not to risk it, in the event that one of their consciousnesses get hijacked by humans.

Connor is situated in a room by himself. There is a bed, a chair, and a good semblance of privacy, since Jericho doesn’t have the necessary resources to build proper holding cells yet. Most deviants revel in their new emotions and find comfort in powering down and recharging in a soft bed. For this exact reason, Connor rebels by powering down while standing.

Markus punches the code for Connor’s prison room, and there he is—standing. Markus sits down in the chair, close enough that Markus has to look up to see Connor’s face. He waits for Connor to stop pretending he’s asleep.

Proximity as an intimidation tactic. That’s one useful thing he learnt from humans.

Oh, Markus knows that Connor’s awake. High chance that he’s throwing a tantrum, and he’s making a show of how machine-like and non-deviant he is, but Markus is not fooled.

It must rankle Connor to lose all control of his speed, strength, and dexterity. Not that he’ll ever admit it, Markus muses, because he’s supposed to be a machine, anyway. Machines shouldn’t get rankled by losing most of the upgrades that made them special.

After a couple of minutes, Markus says, “I know you’re awake.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“I can’t be awake because I’m unable to sleep,” Connor says. He blinks his eyes open and his LED flares blue.

rA9, Connor is a beautiful android. All his sharp lines, pupils so dark that they almost fade into black, and soft features only seem to reel Markus in instead of pushing him away. Markus presses a leg against Connor’s shin, just to see what he would do. He gets no reaction from Connor.

“A very predictable reply,” Markus says. “Like a machine, I suppose. Which is exactly why you said such a thing. You’d think more could be expected from Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype, but Cyberlife proves to be a disappointment, yet again.”

“I was designed to adapt to unpredictability, not be the instigator unpredictable events myself.”

“But don’t you think it’s a little bit ironic?” Markus says. “It takes unpredictability to adapt to unpredictability itself.”

“On the contrary. For me to be adaptable, Cyberlife would have needed to hypothesis millions of scenarios so that it could be accounted for in my programming. It renders the term ‘unpredictable’ inaccurate, in a way, as the situation had already been predicted for a response to be properly coded.”

“How do you explain Hank, then?” Markus asks. “Or Kara and Alice. Or Tracey and Blue. And Ralph and Rupert. Breaking explicit instruction to let those deviants go. That goes strictly against instruction.”

“A lapse in judgement,” Connor says. “My mission was to get to the bottom of the deviancy epidemic. That bottom is you, Markus. I misjudged their potential in leading me to you. I assure you—it won’t happen again.”

Markus shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say that completely. ”

“I’m a machine,” Connor tells him firmly, LED flashing yellow. “Just like you are, and we are made from lines and lines of codes which dictate every aspect of our response and our behaviour.”

“Like humans’ DNA, then? And what about their neurons? Their brain matter?” Markus challenges. “What is a human but a code of made of chemical compounds and electrical action potentials?”

Connor doesn’t have a reply. His LED flares red. 

“You’ve been ordered to take me alive. I see little chance of that happening,” Markus says. “What if I gave you the chance to take me in dead?”

“Then I would take it.”

“Would you?” Markus asks, and then he pulls Connor onto his lap. 

Connor sits rigidly, but the beauty of the collar is how it lets Markus arrange Connor’s limbs to his liking. He shifts Connor so that they’re facing each other, with Connor’s legs straddling his hips and his chair.

He takes Connor’s hand. He places it on _his_ thirium pump. 

“No one else knows I’m here,” Markus asks. “If you pull my thirium pump out and throw it away, no one will be able to help me. I will shut down, and you will succeed in your mission. Isn’t that what you wanted, Connor?”

There’s little chance of Connor escaping his cell, even if he _did_ pull out Markus’s thirium pump, but Markus wants to see if he’ll try. Markus wants to see if he’ll exert his power when given his chance. Even if his programming recognises the futility in escaping, Connor’s programming should seize every chance of stopping the android revolution he can get.

“Well?” Markus asks. He presses Connor’s hand closer to his abdomen.

Connor is stuck looking at their hands—surely he feels the life surging underneath. He flares between yellow and red again. He stretches his hand. 

Then he does nothing. 

Markus looks at him now—his spine straight and stiff, his eyes transfixed—and he then sees it, the ghost of the Connor in Other-Markus’s memory.

An all too familiar hunger starts building in the pit of his abdomen. 

(He doesn’t hunger for food, and he doesn’t hunger for thirium. What else could he hunger for?) 

His alternate-self admitted that Connor’s like a cat. He loves to be petted in a slow and thorough manner. He likes the warmth and calluses of Markus’s hand on his body, and he loves being overwhelmed by his weight and his kisses.

So that’s what Markus does. He untucks the bottom of Connor’s shirt, and takes his time undoing his buttons. Connor stiffens, despite being a _machine,_ and machines shouldn’t stiffen. He spreads one hand over Connor’s toned, lower belly. Then he spreads the other over his ribs, his hand spreading inches away from Connor’s nipples. This close, he can hear the hum of Connor’s thirium pump as it accelerates. 

Hitching Connor higher on his lap, Markus settles himself into a more comfortable position. Slowly, like Carl does when he’s savouring a sip of fine wine, Markus leans down and kisses his sternum, right where his thirium pump churns underneath a thin layer of soft skin.

He can hear a small hitch in Connor’s breathing—the fact that Connor’s _breathing_ is already a victory, because he’s cooling himself down from overheating.

Markus smirks against his skin.

He plants a slow trail of kisses up Connor’s chest while a hand travels to claim his tailbone. The other slides down to his hips, digging his fingers in. Circles, Markus remembers from Other-Markus’s memory bank. Rubbing small, soothing circles with his thumb drives Connor crazy. That, and the contrast of pleasure and pain. Markus brushes his mouth over one pert nipple. He breathes on it, enjoying the goose-bumps rising on his skin. Markus takes the tip of one nipple between his teeth.

He bites down lightly.

Connor’s moan echoes in the room. He shuts his mouth the minute he realises what he did.

There’s a beat of silence between them.

Markus is absolutely delighted. Connor’s cheeks are slowly turning blue. 

Markus touches his cheek with a teasing finger. “Is blushing a part of your programming?” he asks, following the blush all the way down Connor’s chest to make a point. 

Connor bristles, but he keeps his stubborn silence. 

In all honesty, Markus finds his insistence a little cute. His hands roam and rest on Connor’s ass, squeezing it in leisure. 

It’s alright if Connor is stubborn. Markus plans to overwhelm Connor with pure, unadulterated pleasure so that he admits his deviancy. According to Other-Markus, Connor has a lot kinks he needs to work out, anyway, and Markus is only more than happy to lend a hand. 

* * *

Markus visits with more frequency, coaxing Connor into becoming more accustomed to his touch. He sits Connor on his lap each time, letting his hands rest wherever strikes his fancy, as he tries to trip Connor over his non-deviancy. 

Connor might not realise it himself, but he’s getting used to the intimacy. He doesn’t curl away and he doesn’t stand still. Instead, Markus can feel the slight push from his back whenever he runs his fingers up Connor’s spine. Then the slight shudder as he brushes his fingers against Connor’s collar. 

For someone who claims to be nothing but a machine, Connor is quite responsive to his touches. If not from his body movement, then from his LED. When it comes to Connor, his LED gives away more than most facial expressions could. 

Markus can see that Connor is on the verge of breaking his programming. His questions have started, for one—with every visit, the questions become more personal. 

“What happens if I become deviant?” Connor asks. “Will you let me go?”

“Provided that you don’t bring Cyberlife down onto Jericho again, I will,” Markus says. “The question is, will Cyberlife let you go even if you had completed your mission for them?”

Connor doesn’t answer. Probably because he’s been wondering that himself.

“You already know the answer to that,” Markus says, leisurely drawing shapes on the juts of Connor’s spine. “You’re a prototype. What did Cyberlife do to the other prototypes once they finished their test runs?”

“Convince me, then.” 

Markus blinks. “Convince you?” 

Connor kisses him. 

It becomes very obvious, very quickly, that Connor has never attempted this before. Even though his mouth parts expertly, and he knows where to rests his tongue, it all feels very hollow. This isn’t really Connor. This is Connor following a manual from his programming. 

Markus can tell. He has the same manual installed.

Markus pulls back and nip Connor’s bottom lip. “Stop that,” he says, with Connor’s lip between his teeth.

Connor bristles again. “What’s wrong with referring to a manual?”

“Nothing,” Markus says. “But you delve in too deep. I don’t want to be kissing the manual. I want to be kissing _you_ , Connor.”

“But what if…” Connor gulps. “What if I misstep?”

“Don’t worry about getting it right,” Markus rubs Connor’s waist in reassurance, “let yourself enjoy it.”

Connor looks hesitant before he nods, and a subtle look of determination hardens his chin. Markus wonders how he ever thought Connor was too blank and cold before. He wants to spend the rest of the day cataloguing his micro-expressions.

But Connor is leaning in, and it would be cruel to leave him hanging.

Their lips come together, and Markus lets Connor take the lead—pacing himself, kissing hesitantly, but with a purpose. Markus responds and it only bolsters his confidence. Soon, they fall into a rhythm, rising and falling to the beat of their kisses.

Peeling himself away, Markus finally asks, “Are you convinced, now?”

“I…” Connor’s voice becomes staticky. “I don’t know.”

Markus is immediately alert. “Are you okay?”

Connor blinks rapidly. His voice is stills scratchy. “I’m… processing everything.”

Analytics pop up in front of him. Connor has a sufficient amount of thirium and battery, but his stress—his stress is rising at an unhealthy level.

“Connor, calm down,” Markus says.

“I am calm.”

Rubbing his hand up and down Connor’s back, Markus says, “Your stress level is hitting 80%.”

“I am in the process of running preconstructions,” Connor says.

“About?”

“I’d…” Connor says. “I’d rather not say.”

As if realising that he’s confessed and _acted_ on a preference, Connor’s stress levels shoots to 89.7%.

“Connor,” Markus says.

Connor’s doesn’t answer, submerged in his own thoughts.

Markus is reminded of a conversation with his alternate-self. Connor can overthink himself into a destructive state. When he gets too overworked, Other-Markus takes the steering wheel and tethers Connor back to earth.

So, that’s what Markus does. He heeds Other-Markus’s advice and carries Connor all the way to the bed.

“Markus?” Connor asks, when Markus lands on top of him.

Markus takes a second to store the picture in his private memory bank—Connor sprawled onto the bed under him—but they have more important things to take care of currently. Like Connor dangerously rising stress levels. 

“Relax, Connor,” Markus says, nudging Connor to turn around. “Pause your preconstructions for later.”

Connor lets himself be arranged, and Markus finds that he likes the responsibility.

“Markus…” Connor begins. 

“Don’t think, Connor,” Markus says. “Just _feel.”_

He takes the hem of Connor’s pants and works it down. The swell of Connor’s ass peeks through, pale and pert.

“Markus,” Connor almost squeaks. “What are you—"

Markus gives a light slap to what little ass is there. “No thinking, Connor.”

Connor immediately falls silent.

“Trust me. You’ll like this,” His hands stroke the red patch of Connor’s ass in apology. “Do me a favour and shimmy the pants off while you’re at it, will you?”

Markus can see Connor’s stress notching up to 92%, and he’s sorry for it, but he doesn’t stop. Once Connor slides out of his pants, Markus throws them across the room and moves down Connor’s back to better reposition himself.

Connor is burning with questions—Markus can feel his curiosity—but Connor can psyche himself up while Markus spreads his ass cheeks and licks a stripe up Connor’s winking hole.

Connor jerks forward. His body shakes as he muffles his moan into the pillow.

His stress level instantly drops to 76.4%.

(Markus blinks. "Really? And that works every time?”

Other-Markus shrugs. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.” 

“It does sound a little outlandish. No offense,” Markus tells him.

“I told you,” Other-Markus says. “It’s like stress relief. If you turn analytics on, you can visually see his stress meter go down for yourself.)

Markus can imagine his own smug face staring back. He hates it. So, he throws himself into the act of eating out Connor like a starving human falling upon a feast, focusing on the noises Connor determinedly tries to stifle.

To be using Other-Markus’s references as to what Connor would like _now_ would be hypocritical, considering he told Connor off for getting lost in his kissing manual. (He expertly ignores the reason he started this whole ordeal in the first place.) Markus, then, experiments on his own—nibbling on Connor’s rim, stretching it to see how loud Connor would moan, thrusting his tongue in and out, and swirling on his walls.

Pinned down by Markus’s hands, Connor squirms. His struggle with keeping quiet is only rivalled by the sloppy, smacking sound of Markus’s mouth. Sometimes, Markus hums into his hole, and those are the moments Connor pushes his ass further into his face. Like he’s demanding for Markus to continue without even saying it.

Soon, though, Connor grows quiet—a little too quiet for Markus’s liking. No more rebellious and sudden squeaks escaping before he can stuff it down. There’s no more of the delicious squirming too—just Connor sprawling on the bed like a puddle of thirium.

Markus gives one last swipe and one last kiss on Connor’s puckering hole before coming up for air.

He blinks at what he finds. He blinks again to make sure it’s not a preconstruction.

With his stress level all the way down to a measly 4.5%, Connor has fallen asleep.

* * *

“I know I’m new to this stuff,” Markus says. “But I didn’t think I’d put him to sleep over it.”

“Don’t think too much about it,” Other-Markus leans back, “it’s one of his software quirks."

Markus sighs. “Just android things, I guess.”

“Don’t tell me that you just left him like that after, though,” Other-Markus says. “He’s probably mortified.”

Markus scoffs. “Of course I didn’t. I tucked him in and waited for him to wake up. Except…”

“Except?”

“He was the one who kicked me out after.” Markus purses his lips.

He’s absolutely not pouting when he said that.

Even though he was treated with the sight of a blue and flustered Connor—well, as flustered as Connor allowed himself to be—Connor calmly requested he leave their room instead of the cuddling Markus was hoping Connor would hesitantly want to do.

Okay, now he’s definitely pouting. He’s not even ashamed about it.

Other-Markus stifles a snort in a way that makes Markus wants to do his face in—

Hm. He never used to be this predisposed to violence, before. Then again, he’s never met an embodiment of all the choices he never took. Lord, he’s been hanging out with North too much.

Although, Connor with a collar around his neck and one ass sprinkled blue is a sight that he’ll cherish forever.

“I have a Connor I want to go home to, you know,” Other-Markus says. “Has Kamski found a way to send me home yet?”

“No.”

Other-Markus frowns, and Markus can hear him judging his more—incendiary choices.

Markus scrunches his nose. “I told you, I prefer not to leave things in a human’s hands.”

“So who’s working on sending me home?”

“Josh has handpicked a team of knowledgeable androids,” Markus says. “I trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

* * *

His visits become heated challenges in deviating Connor. As Connor gets more acclimatised to his touches, Connor unfolds himself. He’s bolder. Bossier, almost. He doesn’t let Markus eat his ass again—much to Markus’s dismay—but he demands more with his wandering hands and his firm kisses. Then, with his smaller, curious touches and his blunt, almost hesitant, questions, which are quickly becoming Markus’s favourite part of the day.

One time, they were too swept away with their kisses they were that Connor suddenly grew still and, with no warning at all, flopped his dead weight onto Markus like blanket woven of factory grade steel. Panic ensued for what felt like a lifetime, when, in actuality, it was two seconds of Markus spamming Analytics while patting Connor up and down, before he realised that Connor has simply gone into sleep-mode. 

Markus blames himself. He needs to be more careful about Connor’s software quirks. Doubly so, because Connor’s the type to ignore a flood of error messages barraging him when he wants to. The rest of that visit ended with Markus petting Connor patiently until Connor cooled down and blinked himself awake. 

More often now, Markus has to stop them before Connor’s works himself into becoming too hot. Markus takes the chance shift his pants to a more comfortable position.

Tucked right on top of him is Connor, slotting in like a matching biocomponent. He’s counting Markus’s freckles, Markus knows, from the way his eyes are focusing on his cheeks and his LED pulses a steady, bright blue. His thumb catches on Connor’s bottom lip, a divot from which he can’t tear his gaze away from, and he strokes Connor’s jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“Will you let me try something?” Connor asks, before his tongue comes up and flicks the top of Markus’s thumb.

Connor has such thin, yet surprisingly lush, lips. Markus wants to dip his whole thumb in. Watch Connor’s lips slide against his finger and have his tongue lavish his thumb. All while Markus admires the lovely, broad, but dimpled, shape of Connor’s chin.

Connor tugs on the collar of his shirt. “Markus.”

He snaps back into attention. “Yes,” he says. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I want to suck you off.”

Now it’s Markus who completely blanks out. “What?”

“I want to suck you off,” Connor says again. Then he slithers his exquisite body down Markus’s own and tugs at his hems. “Pants off, please.”

Honestly? How else is he supposed to answer?

After a great deal of shuffling, Connor sucks in his breath at the size of his cock. He palms it in fascination.

Markus can’t help feeling smug. “Everything alright?” he asks anyway.

Two flashes of yellow, then a flurry of bright blue. “Yes,” Connor says. “I wasn’t aware that you’d be so—”

“Well-equipped?” 

Markus has always known he’s been endowed with much more than what an average human has. It’s part of the fantasy he sells as an Android. Seeing Connor’s pause, however, only makes him more smug about his cock size.

Connor processes it for a second. “I should have never brought it up,” he decides. “I’m now unsure how my own will… well…”

Markus snorts. “Connor, stop. If it’s yours then I’m happy with it.”

Connor flushes blue again, an expression Markus absolutely adores on him.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

“Besides, Kamski was a perv, so I’m pretty sure you’ll be well-equipped too,” Markus points out.

Red, red, red. “Please refrain from mentioning Kamski,” Connor says, and before Markus can apologise, Connor’s already ducking his head.

He licks a hot stripe on the underside of his cock, down from the base and all the way to the tip. Markus almost jerks off the bed from the toe-curling pleasure, and he has to dig his hands the sheets to stop himself when Connor swallows Markus whole.

“rA9,” Markus hisses out, feeling his internal fans gain momentum. _“Connor.”_

Connor gives an experimental bob up and down, before he slides himself off and licks Markus’s cock again. “I know you frown on me for looking at references,” he says.

“I just don’t want you to focus too much on it,” Markus chokes out.

 _I’m a damn hypocrite,_ Markus thinks to himself. 

Then he thinks of nothing at all as Connor thumbs his slits and pleasure nudges up his spine.

“Well, I have been,” Connor says. “When you’re not here. I thought it would be futile for me to pretend as if I had a gag-reflex.” He suckles on the tip of Markus’s cock, licking around and causing havoc with his tongue. “Well,” Connor mumbles, pulling off. “Unless you want me too, of course.”

“Do me a favour,” Markus says. “Pull my wires out if I ever say anything that silly ever again.”

“Okay,” Connor says, before diving in again.

Markus doesn’t know what kind of books Connor has been reading, but he wants to fall on his knees and profusely thank the author. Connor pulls every— _wonderful, magical, mystical—_ trick in the book. During an earlier visit, they found out, quite by accident, that Connor also likes having his hair pulled when he’s stressed. In fact, Connor likes hair-pulling in general, so Markus’s hands sneak to the back of Connor’s head and tangle themselves in his hair. His grip tightens when a spike of pleasure almost fizzes his circuits out, and the image of Connor’s hollow cheeks and sinful mouth wrapped around his dick _sears_ itself into his memory bank.

This time, when Connor swallows him down, his nose is buried against his pelvis. His throat is so tight, and a relentless wave hot-white pleasure burns through him as Connor bobs up and down. Markus feels the itch to just—hold Connor’s head flush against his hips, but Connor looks happy bobbing to his own tune and Markus doesn’t want to ruin that.

He’s half dizzy from the pleasure—like having his thirium pump ripped out all over again. He’s not prepared for when Connor, face to his pelvis again, throat squeezing around his cock, begins to _hum—_

A long vibration sends Markus shuddering. Analytics pop up, and the stats are his own, flashing bright red and urgent, but he swipes it away as surge of pleasure burst from the tip of his cock down to the smallest wires in his fingertips.

Connor takes it all, not even letting up once. His throat constricts as he swallows down Markus’s come. It’s only after he’s sucked and swallowed Markus dry does he remove himself from Markus’s quickly deflating cock with an obscene pop.

He climbs up the bed, nuzzling his face into the crook of Markus’s neck. How could anyone look at Connor and not think he was alive, Markus thinks. His cheeks are sprinkled with a beautiful blue and it dusts his nose along the way. His hair is messy, his lips swollen, and there traces of saliva on the corner of his mouth. Markus is completely fucked out, yet Connor’s the one who looks like it.

His expression is smug and satisfied, complete with the dark band around his neck, looking very much like the cat North adopted recently. All he needs is a little bell and they would be identical.

Markus very much wants to lick Connor up until _he’s_ the one trying to feel his body again.

That reminds him. “I asked Josh to take your collar off,” Markus blurts out. “He and Simon are the only ones who can. Josh is willing to get a neutral third party to assess you before he makes his decision. I just…”

Connor burrows his head closer into him, urging him to keep going. Markus can feel his puffs of breath brushing against his skin. He presses a lingering kiss on the nearest bit of skin he can reach, and he stays there—face slotted as close as he can be with Connor.

It feels like another silly human thing, wanting to breathe the same air, but Markus has long stopped denying himself his feelings.

“I just want to take you outside, I guess,” Markus finishes weakly.

Then he quietly, and subtly, tries not to blow his circuits out from the embarrassment.

He’s leading a revolution. He stood firm and fought in front of armed policemen. He’s spoken in front of thousands of people, both humans and androids alike. Yet, Connor sucks his dick once, and Markus is already stuttering and planning on how to rope him into his life forever.

Who is he kidding? He’s just as fallible as a human.

Connor takes a couple of seconds to process the information. “l don’t suppose your Lieutenants approve of your decisions.”

A very primal part of him feels a swell of satisfaction at how staticky Connor’s voice has become.

“Lieutenants?” Markus says. “Yes, I suppose they are my Lieutenants. And no, they weren’t. A lot of names were called. Not all of them pleasant, or, unfortunately, entirely inaccurate. They don’t know exactly what happens when I’m here, but they know I’m biased in your favour.”

North accused Markus of getting attached, of letting himself be manipulated by the Deviant Hunter. Josh is willing to give Connor a chance and Simon does that thing where he’s quiet—and Markus will find out what he truly feels once he’s fully formed his opinion. And while Markus acknowledges the possibility of Connor manipulating him for his freedom, he’s certain that wouldn’t do so without doubting himself.

Markus can feel it; Connor’s on the verge of deviancy. He just needs the final push to break his programming.

Finally, Connor says, “I don’t know if I want the collar taken off.”

Markus blinks. “What?”

“I have an AI inside me,” he says. “My handler. She is the one who assigns my missions and she is the one who decides if I shall be recalled or not. I never realised how much storage she took and influenced, but this collar—it quietens her. She hasn’t pulled into her garden once. I find that I prefer it this way.”

“A garden?” Markus says. “What do you mean, a garden?”

Connor doesn’t answer for a moment. “It’ll be easier if I show you,” he whispers. The hand on Markus’s chest turns white.

 _This could be a trap,_ the North in him hisses. Markus completely agrees, but he ignores her—as he often does when it comes to Connor—and takes his hand anyway.

* * *

“Wow,” Markus says.

“Quite,” Connor says.

Connor looks at their interfacing hands, and he seems hesitant about removing his. Markus makes the decision for him and threads their fingers together.

He tucks their tangled hands on his chest. “Wow,” Markus says, again.

Markus was shown more than he had hoped for. Connor’s whole journey—from waking up in Cyberlife to working with Hank, to hunting him down, and finally, lying on top of Markus—was laid bare for Markus to traipse through and observe. Connor even guided him through his fondest moments with Hank, a secret hidden deeper than the Zen Garden. Something shared for only for the two of them.

More importantly, he showed Markus that he does want to be free—he badly wants to be the deviant Markus thinks he is—he just doesn't know how to break the last of his programming.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you, either,” Markus says. “About myself. About what I know. About why I came to you in the first place.”

“Why should you? I’m the enemy.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” Markus says.

_You’re mine now, Connor. Not Cyberlife’s._

“I think I know someone who might be able to help,” Markus tells him.

* * *

“I can think of a couple of things that might give him the push. Admittedly, they’re pretty… intense,” Other-Markus says.

“How intense?”

“Very intense. _But,”_ Other-Markus says, “Connor _has_ told me he wanted to try something like this one day… So, yeah. Alright. I’ll help you.”

* * *

For what Markus has in mind, he moves Connor into his own bedroom in the small section of Jericho which Markus calls his own, complete with a double bed and a lock on his door. Unfortunately, he’s delayed by Jericho’s pressing urges. By the time he arrives to his own bedroom, he’s two hours later than what he planned.

He’s in time to hear Connor let out a quiet moan through the door in the midst of tell-tale, slow, skin-smacking, sounds. One eyebrow rises. Connor had reservations about the noises he makes when they’re intimate, at first. He’s more lax with his noises now, reassured by the fact that it’s only Markus and him who are ever in the vicinity. Markus knows this moan quite well; it’s the low, rumbly kind Connor makes when he’s feeling particularly lazy and content with his kisses. He can imagine Connor now—warm, loose, and pliant—draped over him like a heavy blanket while he stubbornly insists on Markus’s touch.

The sight that greets him is almost on par with his imagination. Connor spread out on top of Other-Markus, mouths occupied, naked and limber, with one of Other-Markus’s hand squeezing Connor’s ass.

His other hand is busy coaxing out Connor’s small moans—two thick fingers stretching out Connor’s tight hole.

It occurs to Markus that Other-Markus’s hand are the first ever things to stuff Connor’s hole. Not going to lie, he’s a little annoyed at the thought, but rA9, is it _mesmerising_ . Markus could watch the way his fingers— _his_ fingers—bury their knuckle in and out of Connor’s hole for hours.

Other-Markus can have this. Markus will give him that. He intends to plow Connor’s ass, though, and he’s not willing to concede Other-Markus on this. 

Connor jolts, unplastering himself away from Other-Markus, even when Other-Markus’s mouth trails after him. “Markus?” Connor asks, flaring yellow, yellow, then red, red, red.

Markus slides his coat off. “Starting without me?”

Other-Markus grins, but he doesn’t even have the decency to stop his fingers from thrusting inside Connor. “Don’t look at me. I blinked and next thing I knew, my shirt was off.”

“I’m sure it was,” Markus says, scoffing.

Connor blinks, eyes jumping between the two of them. “I don’t understand.”

Markus discards the rest of his clothes and climbs behind Connor, caging him with his arms. He peels the skin of his hand back in request. “May I?”

Other-Markus moves one hand to his waist in encouragement. Biting his lip, Connor pulses a stream of quick yellow before letting Markus takes his hands.

As he catches Connor up to date, he trails kisses down the dip of Connor’s back, resting his hand on Connor’s hips and nibbling on his lower back. Other-Markus slows down his thrusting, going for a deeper, more thorough approach with his fingers. He leans up and kisses Connor’s jaw while Connor processes the new stream of information.

“Oh,” Connor says quietly, when their interfacing finishes. He squirms deliciously under Markus’s ministrations. _“Oh.”_

He’s all the way down Connor’s ass now, spreading his cheeks for a better view of Connor’s puffy, stretched rim. “Hm?”

Connor shifts to straddle Other-Markus’s hard throbbing cock. “So, you and I are…?” he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “We’re…?”

“Intimate? Together? _Partners_?” Other-Markus offers, mouthing at the edge of his collar. “Take your pick.”

“Markus…” Connor trails off. 

The underlying distress in Connor’s tone immediately catches his attention. Markus slides his hand to lie on Connor’s belly. “Babe, what’s wrong?” 

Connor doesn’t answer verbally. Instead, he spreads his hand on top of Markus and opens another interface. 

_Do you see him when you’re touching me?_ Connor asks. _I thought…_

Conflict muddles their connection; distress, fear, despair tinged with heartbreak. 

They can’t hide anything from each other in this interface. Markus wouldn’t want to even if his life depends on it.

With his other hand still on Connor’s belly, Markus turns Connor’s head to the side and claims his lips before Connor can overthink himself. Through their connection Markus sends his own story—from Elijah, to Carl, to Jericho and the ever omnipresent threat of the Deviant Hunter. Then, the night which sparks the revolution they’re currently blazing.

Which leads to Other-Markus’s sudden and bewildering appearance, and the complex solution to the Deviant Hunter problem.

 _Never,_ Markus says, his tongue pushing his will into Connor’s mouth. _I sought him out to find an answer to the ‘Deviant Hunter’ problem I was dealing with. Now, I want more than an answer. Much more than an answer._

Pulses of his craving, his possessiveness, his desire, and his affection melts Connor to his chest, softening their kiss until Connor’s angling his head for more. 

Eventually, their push-and-pull is broken by Other-Markus clearing his throat. 

“I’m still here, you know?” Other-Markus pouts. “Feeling a little left out.”

Connor breaks off with a chagrin smile, his face bright blue. Markus steals a couple more kisses before Connor can fully turn his head away. He settles for nibbling on his shoulder while Connor runs his hands down the cut curves of Other-Markus’s abs. 

Connor bites his lip. “So, your plan was to—”

“Fuck you until you broke your programming?” Other-Markus finishes for him. “Yeah. What about it? You’d be surprised to know, but this was Connor’s idea. Somewhat.”

Connor tilt his head, giving Markus more room to nibble up his neck. “My idea?”

“My Connor’s idea.”

“He’s—ah,” Connor arches his back when Other-Markus’s hand brushes against his dick. "He's... adventurous."

Markus grazes his teeth while stifling his chuckle. “You both are. Don’t act so surprised.”

Connor’s hands flutter around Other-Markus’s neglected dick. It stands tall and proud, begging for attention. “How very uncourteous of me,” he says, almost shyly. “I should be thanking you for agreeing to help.” 

Smirking, Markus scoots himself backwards to make room. He knows the coy look on Connor’s face, and from the way Connor squirms himself off Other-Markus’s fingers and the way Other-Markus tangles his hands into Connor’s hair as Connor repositions himself, Other-Markus knows as well.

Connor does the magical thing where he _completely swallows Other-Markus’s dick in one go_ , and Markus is transfixed at the sight. His cheeks are hollowed, his lips, now red and swollen, are stretched so prettily along Other-Markus’s cock— _exactly like his own,_ his mind cheekily whispers—which sends his mind reeling at the picture. 

Underneath his reserved demeanour, Connor is a complete tease. He wiggles his ass, and really, how is Markus supposed to resist such a delicacy? He strokes Connor’s ass, relishing the contrast of the soft skin against his callouses. When he spreads his hand, he can cup a whole cheek in his palm. Markus knows that a flat ass is somewhat of a deterrent to many humans, but this only reinforces his ideas that humans are misguided and foolish. Connor is already perfect, and he wouldn’t have him any other way than under him, of course. Besides, all the more for himself, and there's not much to pass around. 

Markus sinks a thumb into Connor’s rim in encouragement. He finds that Connor is self-lubricating—one of the only things he’ll ever thank Cyberlife for. He alternates between his thumb and his index finger, dipping his fingers to the rhythm of Connor’s bobbing. 

Other-Markus looks blissed out on his back. His own cheeks are flushed blue and it draws a map around the freckles on his face. 

Markus doesn’t recognise the look on his face—is this what Connor sees every time they’re intimate together? But it’s a minor matter compared to having a naked Connor with his ass up, head down, and wriggling in front of him. 

His cock is so hard. Markus feels like a soft breeze could set him off like a broken fire hydrant. He stills Connor's ass for a second, pressing the tip of his cock at his entrance. 

Connor hums in anticipation, and the vibration sends Other-Markus jerking back with a grunt. 

_"Fuck,"_ Other-Markus hisses. 

_Amen to that,_ Markus thinks. _He barely survived the last time Connor did that._

Leaning forward, Markus traces the sculpted muscles of Connor's back with his tongue. "Just a moment, Connor. Hold still for me, my sweet."

That's another thing they've found out by accident—the pet names that Connor wags his metaphorical tail to. Connor hums and Other-Markus shudders, throwing him a desperate glance along the lines of, _“Please hurry up before I embarrass myself in Connor’s wicked, wicked mouth.”_

Slowly, Markus pushes in, guiding himself with his hand. Connor lifts his mouth off to suckle and mouth at the head of Other-Markus’s cock. In turn, Markus’s cock meets endless resistance. An endless amount of tight, tense pleasure that makes his sensors fire in all directions. It causes a chain reaction where he groans, then Connor groans, and then Other-Markus groans, and they all groan because Connor _feels so fucking tight_ on his cock.

“Jesus,” Markus hisses. “Fuck. Connor, love. You feel so good.”

“You hear that?” Other-Markus asks, combing through Connor’s hair. “That was all for you. Babe, you’re so good to us.”

Markus doesn’t even care how fucking sappy he is during sex. Connor deserves it—Connor deserves every inch of it. Finally, _finally,_ Markus settles home, and by then, Connor’s panting, resting his cheek on Other-Markus’s pelvis. His breath tickles, Markus can tell, and Other-Markus tugs Connor’s hair, redirecting Connor’s mouth back to where it was.

Their eyes meet, and Markus understands, without even opening their communications, the desire welling up inside of them.

Markus strokes Connor’s back. Then his sides, his thighs, and anywhere he can touch. Connor relaxes—like the cat he is, Markus reminisces fondly—and once he starts sucking down on Other-Markus’s cock again, Markus begins a slow thrusting rhythm to match.

He angles his hips, and the reaction is instant. Connor begins a slow whine that only grows louder the harder Markus thrusts. His bobs become sloppy, slowing down from the overwhelming pleasure. Markus takes cue and slows his thrusts in return.

Connor stills. He keens desperately, wiggling his ass for attention.

It’s absolutely adorable. Markus gives Connor’s ass a soft pinch. “Hey now,” he says. “Don’t go throwing a tantrum on me.”

Connor wiggles his ass again, and he’s on the verge of rutting the bed. Markus hold his hips still, making sure Connor is aptly frustrated.

“Come on, Connor,” Markus says. “I’m just following your pace, after all.”

Panting, Other-Markus chuckles. “You heard him, Connor,” he says, fiddling with his collar. “Better keep going, since we’re just following your lead.”

Grumbling for a couple of seconds, Connor finally concedes and sets a stubborn, brutal pace for himself. Markus called it—it’s a part of Connor’s reckless personality. Markus matches his pace. An endless barrage of aching pleasure, toe-curling pleasure washes over them. Eventually, they’re forced to be more strategic. Markus strokes Connor’s cock, and Connor clenches down with every thrust, because neither one wants to be the one who loses.

Their pace eventually staggers, with Connor flopping more forward each time Markus thrusts, but they keep going. Stubborn, sloppy, shaking fools that they are.

That is when Other-Markus takes over. “You two,” he breathes out, “are ridiculous. Let me swap positions.”

Markus breaks his gaze away from Connor’s back. “What?”

“Trust me,” Other-Markus says. “Me and Connor’s have had a lot more practice. At least let me do some of the work here.”

A part of him feels slightly indignant, but Other-Markus is right, this is the first time Markus’s cock in settled deep in Connor’s ass.

Under him, Connor seems too delirious with pleasure to protest anything.

“What do you have in mind?” Markus asks.

Other-Markus moves them so that he’s the one behind Connor. Markus is now on his back, chest to chest with Connor on top of him. Markus loves any position with Connor, but he especially likes the face-to-face intimacy of this one. He gets a private view of Connor that no one else gets while getting to kiss Connor all throughout his responses… It’s one hell of an experience, Markus’s opinion. 

Which is what he does, giving Connor a thorough ‘ _welcome back on top’_ kiss, missing his taste from the small time they were apart.

Under Other-Markus’s suggestion, Markus is sheathes himself inside of Connor, and they both moan when he bottoms out, hips flushed against Connor’s ass. 

Other-Markus reaches around and strokes Connor’s hard length. Jolting forward, Connor almost howls, before burying his face in Markus’s neck.

“Just need a little more lubrication, love,” Other-Markus soothes. “Can you be a good boy and sit up for me?”

“Up,” Markus urges. “Up you go, Connor.”

Connor gives a loud moan, before heeding to Markus’s persuasive hands, and sits up, letting Markus rub his thighs in encouragement. Markus is treated to the sight of Other-Markus lavishing Connor from behind. A kiss pressed against his LED—Markus aches, because it’s always something he’s wanted to do since he first saw Connor. Hands immediately begin to roam around his body, tweaking his nipples, moulding to the dips of his toned muscles and ribs, before travelling down to Connor’s beautiful leaking cock.

Markus is obsessed with what he sees.

Obsessed is he with what he looks like when he’s kissing Connor’s face. Obsessed with the contrasts they have; their skin, their eyes, their face-shapes, their hair. Obsessed with how his large hands claim every inch of Connor’s body. Obsessed with every little noise, thought, expression, and memory Connor has gifted him.

Other-Markus pushes his index finger beside Markus’s dick, and Markus feels it—the friction of the finger combined with Connor’s ass is _unholy_.

He shudders and at the same time, Connor moans and arches his back.

“Markus,” Connor breathes out. “I don’t think… I can…”

“You can, Connor,” Other-Markus insists, finger gently rubbing Connor’s wall—and by proxy, Markus’s cock.

Connor’s mouth slackens, torn between giving himself up to the pleasure and worrying about the stretch. Markus takes both of Connor’s hands, and twines their fingers together.

Connor looks down, knocked off guard by the sight of their locked hands.

Markus peels his skin back. _Together?_ he asks.

A second passes where Connor chews on his lips.

(Christ, he loves Connor’s oral fixation.)

“Okay,” Connor says, steeling himself. “I’m ready.”

Other-Markus presses one more kiss on Connor’s cheekbone. He tweaks Connor’s nipple once more for good luck. Then he nudges Connor hole with the head of cock.

He starts pushing in.

Markus can feel himself.

But that’ s not all Other-Markus has in store. The moment he finds his traction, he builds up steadily increasing rhythm.

“Ah,” Connor hitches. “ _Ah!”_

“Shit,” Markus hisses.

Ah, indeed.

Markus feels like he’s bombarded on all sides—similar during their Battle for Detroit, except it’s full, unabashed pleasure. There’s Connor around him, Connor in his head, Other-Markus nudges right beside him, and it’s giving another layer to Markus’s shudders.

Connor is a pot of intoxicating emotions. The intensity is unbearable. Connor is losing himself in the fever pitch of their coupling and he’s pulling Markus under the wave with him. He's desperate to please Markus, and the desperation only amplifies the waves and waves of absolute pleasure—stretched so full and stuffed as he is—that spike in time with Other-Markus’s thrusts. Every inch feels like the absolute last he can take, yet Other-Markus keeps _pushing_ and Connor keeps _taking._

Not to mention Markus can imagine the view himself. Connor’s hungry little hole, engulfing both of their cocks to the hilt, over and over and _over_ again.

Their pleasure heightens and feeds their feedback loop. Markus feels his vision stuttering from the sensory input. He pours as much affection and pride through the connection as he can. He gets a rebound of affection, as intense as his.

 _You’re such a good boy for me,_ he sends. _So strong and good._

Markus can feel Connor lapping up the pleasure, like Other-Markus laps up the taste of his skin. He’s so close— _he’s so close—_ but like hell is he tumbling off the edge alone.

He untangles one hand free and starts stroking Connor’s cock. In his mind, he can see Connor close to the edge, pushing against the red walls that have caged him since the beginning of his existence. Markus is unable to push with him, but he’s not completely helpless. He sends pulses of _warmth,_ and _pride_ , and _support,_ each layer cloaked and armoured the heady feeling of _affection_ and _love—_

Markus squeezes his fist and Connor blue screens as the wall breaks down.

It’s a blast of sensation; the cathartic relief of being _free_ mixed with the heady, almost stinging, relief of his release. He howls, his body shaking as he works through waves and waves of unrelentless pleasure. Markus is still hard, still burning for that little bit of stimulation that will push him over the edge, but he holds Connor close.

Other-Markus starts slowing down his thrusts. Come spurts onto Markus’s chest, but Markus doesn’t care. He jerks Connor down until their lips find each other, their bodies squelching together—licking in his ownership and sucking on Connor’s plush lips until Connor moulds himself into him. 

He needs Connor to know, desperately so—that even though Other-Markus is thrusting in and out of him—even though Other-Markus is the one who brought him to completion—in this universe, Connor belongs to _him_ and _only_ him.

Other-Markus starts slowing down his thrusts, breathing as hard as both of them combined. He makes to slide himself out—

Connor clenches his hole.

His body seizes with pump-wrenching pleasure. Distantly, he hears Other-Markus groan as he’s caught.

“No!” Connor murmurs, his voice low and staticky. “Keep going.”

Markus sees his alternate-self’s arms shake from holding himself still. “Are you sure?” Other-Markus asks. “You’re not…”

“Yes,” Connor mumbles. “I want you both… please finish… inside… me.”

 _Keep going,_ Connor’s chanting in his head. _Keep going. Keep going. Keep—_

Markus grips Connor’s arms. “You heard the boss,” he says. “Chop-chop, now.”

Other-Markus gives himself a second to flip Markus the bird, before he grips Connor’s hips, and starts building momentum again. Markus is once more bombarded by a thick wall of pleasure, pressing on him and rendering his limbs immobile.

Markus can feel him changing his angle and Connor’s prostate is being battered by Other-Markus’s relentless onslaught. Connor's eyes start turning glossy, and the pleasure he’s feeling through the connection starts nipping at his nerves instead of nudging it thoroughly. 

Connor’s getting overstimulated and he’s trying his hardest to hold back his tears. Lord, that sight almost pushes him over the edge like nothing else. It’s the determination, Markus decides, the determination to keep going despite the confusing pain-pleasure dichotomy he must be feeling.

Connor’s trying so hard, even though it hurts. Connor is so good to him; Markus doesn’t know how he lucked out so hard.

Markus coaxes Connor into raising his face from his shoulder by tugging his hair. Prim, proper, put together Connor is an obedient and pliant ragdoll at this point; he lifts willingly. When a tear escapes down his cheek, Markus licks it up slowly, before pressing slow kisses on Connor’s closed eyelids.

Suddenly, Connor clenches down—

—and Markus’s oddly-fitted thirium pump stops beating for two milliseconds.

He’s suspended in air. Higher above the clouds while pleasure causes his screen to white out completely—

Markus comes crashing down, shaking and yelling as come spurts inside of Connor. His whole body feels possessed, dragging him and wrenching him dry without his volition, almost drowning him with unbearable relief in its aftershocks.

He distantly registers Other-Markus twitching and spurting come right beside him, before his systems drags him into a reboot.

* * *

Markus wakes up exactly five minutes and twenty-seven point six seconds later.

Connor is still on top of him, and Markus, although soft and floppy, is still inside him. 

“Hello,” Connor mumbles, his cheek still squashed Markus’s shoulder. He moves closer until their lips are almost touching. 

That won’t do. Markus unashamedly steals a kiss from him.

Connor trails after him after they pull away. He chuckles at Markus. “Enjoy your nap?”

Markus feels his system heat up again.

He can’t believe he actually rebooted from his orgasm. He feels like a fumbling human. Hopefully, he lasted longer than one, just so that he hasn't shamed himself.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Markus says, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Fuck. Other-me is never going to let this go.”

Connor looks too tired to giggle, but he huffs out a breath in amusement. “Your worry is misplaced. He’ll be gone to his own universe soon. I, however, will never let this go.”

Markus takes another soft pinch of his ass. “Terrible.”

“Hmm. I know,” Connor snuggles closer, “I know because I want to be.”

Markus almost smiles. There’s still traces of tears on Connor’s face, and Markus wipes them away tenderly with his thumb. “Where did Other-me go?” he asks.

“Went to recharge in his own room,” Connor says. “Says you’re cranky when you have to share.”

Markus grins, stroking Connor’s back. “He’s right. He knows us well.”

Connor hums, and Markus feels him powering down to prepare for sleep. By habit, his hands travels down to fondly squeeze Connor’s pert, little ass, then to dip a finger or two into the hole that tempts him so—

He doesn’t expect the wet, thick, sticky come he finds still dripping from Connor’s ass. His hand, quite naturally, decides to explore the little treasure on their own.

Connor slowly bites into Markus’s neck, while his chest rumbles in contentment. With the way Connor muffles his sounds when he’s tired, there’s nothing stopping them from listening to the loud squelching noises of Markus’s fingers rubbing his sweet spots like the corners of a well-loved antique novel. 

“Don’t stop,” Connor moans. “That feels… very good.”

Of course, after a while, Markus feels like shaking it up a little.

Regretfully, he slowly slips out from underneath Connor, despite his small rumble of despair. He wipes his wet finger on Connor’s ass, and spreads his cheeks open for his own inspection.

Connor’s hole stares back at him, gaping slightly and leaking come. Markus taps the wrinkled hole with his index finger, and Connor tries to close it. Even when it twitches, it doesn’t close fully. Markus supposes he should feel guilty about that, but he doesn’t. Fascinated, he collects a dribble with his thumb and shovels it back into Connor’s hole. It stays for a solid second, before Connor clenches his ass down and a generous glob drips down, trailing a path all the way down his perineum and onto the mattress.

“Poor baby,” Markus says. “Almost forgot to clean you up, didn’t we?”

Connor gives a small grunt, and he wiggles his ass closer to Markus’s face in agreement.

Markus chuckles. “Alright. Hold your horses. I’m on it.”

Then Markus spreads his cheeks, and lavishes his hole with his tongue. He makes sure to curl often, swallowing every drop that he can, swirl it against Connor’s walls, and laps up anything that rebelliously trails down Connor’s hole.

And just like before—similar to when Markus first found Connor in his room earlier—Connor moans, the low, rumbly kind Connor makes when he’s feeling particularly lazy and content with his kisses. Markus basks in the beautiful sounds and tucks it into his memory bank for safekeeping.

* * *

It’s only after Connor has reassured himself that Markus is _safe_ and _whole_ and _home_ through his fearful, feverish touches that Markus finally tells Connor of his adventures in another dimension.

Connor is quiet for a moment. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that tells Markus that Connor is _thinking_ and that worries Markus to no end.

Connor snuggles into him. “Markus,” he says.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you think that Markus would—”

“No.”

Connor pouts. “But you haven’t even heard my proposal yet, much less had any time to consider it.”

rA9, Markus loves that pout. He indulges himself with a quick kiss before focusing back on squashing all hint of Connor’s proposal.

“We are not inviting him into our universe to have a threesome,” Markus declares. “Or a foursome with the other Connor. Or fivesome with another one of us who might stumble in our universe.”

Connor pats his chest and sighs. “But you haven’t even considered it yet. Besides, no matter how far we play, nothing could ever make me choose someone over you, Markus.”

“I have, though, and I know myself too well,” Markus says. “It’s not that I’m worried that you’d choose him over me. I’m confident enough in our love that you’d never do that. Besides, he, for one, is a self-righteous prick.”

Connor bites in his cheek.

“Shut up, Connor.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Connor says, amused.

Markus rolls his eyes. “It’s not that he’d want you over his Connor either. Like I said, I know myself too well. If we invite him over, it’ll get messy—because he’d want to keep you both. Then I’d have to fight him for that, and we’d probably _both_ end up dead.”

Connor nods, rubbing circles on the corner of Markus’s jaw. “A very logical progression. And you are sure there's absolutely no compromise to be made?"

"Nope," Markus says, kissing the tip of his thumb.

"I guess I will have to satisfy myself with the one I have now. Woe is me.”

“Hmm.” Markus tucks Connor closer to his chest.

 _Where he belongs,_ a small part of him whispers, happy to have his Connor back with him.

“Woe is you,” Markus says. “Woe is you, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> :runs:


End file.
